Destiny Entwined
by Kami no Noshikage
Summary: ON HOLD Spike has a secret – a deep dark secret that no one, not even Drusilla with her psychic powers, knows about. SpikeOC, with some mention of SpikeDrucilla and BuffyAngel.
1. Building a Mystery

TITLE: Destiny Entwined

AU: Buffy wasn't the first slayer that died briefly. That slayer comes into the Sunnydale scene pre-'Halloween.'

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer, but if I did it would still be running and I would make a few slight changes. So please don't sue.

SUMMARY: Spike has a secret – a deep dark secret that no one, not even Drusilla with her psychic powers, knows about. No one except a young girl that claims to be the Slayer he had encountered years before. It all involves an antique music box (an heirloom passed down from mother to daughter), a poem addressed to a man named William Lennox, and a mysterious painting connected to Spike's human past that was acquired by the Watcher's Council. But things start getting even more peculiar when Spike finds out that this mystical slayer is not only drawn to him, but that they are somehow mysteriously connected by a magical bond so powerful, that not even death can break it. This story has sexual content in it. You have been warned. Also, so there is no confusion, this story will be written in three prospectives: Spike's, Renee's and an Omnipotent. How the layout will be will depend on my mood. Thanks and enjoy.

Chapter 1-Building a Mystery

**London – 1869**

"William! William!"

Young William Lennox opened his sapphire blue eyes at hearing his name called from his bedroom window. A large grin played on his lips as he silently uttered the name of the voice's owner: Renée. Renée McCullough was his neighbor, his friend, his confidante, and the love of his life. He had known her since he was twelve and she nine, when she had moved to London from America after the death of her mother.

In only his nightshirt, William rushed over to the bedroom window, opening it completely, and thrusting his head out to face his beloved.

"Renée, darling? He locked you in the garret again, didn't he?"

"William, he's been in a foul mood all morning. I dared not argue or anger him in anyway, but the moment I mentioned paying you a visit for your birthday…" Renée went silent and gently touched her cheek where William noticed a fresh bruise.

"Bastard!" he growled wrathfully through gritted teeth. Renée's father, Avery McCullough, was a wealthy and prominent banker, held in high-regard to many of the citizens of London, but also had a secret dark side. Despite the fact that Mr. McCullough had a dreadful temper and the fact he drank heavily, he tortured his only daughter mercilessly, beating her and then, afterwards, locking her in their garret for days at a time without food or water. William remembered many a time he would allow her to climb to his bedroom from the garret, sneak bread, cheese, and water to her and let her wash her self from his water basin. "He ought to be dragged out into the street and hung, he should!"

"Dearest William, after tonight, I will have nothing to fear from him any longer," She beamed, though it must have been very painful to smile, reminding him of their plans. William calmed and returned the smile; today was his Eighteenth birthday. He and Renée had made plans months earlier to elope to Scotland return home to his mother, with Renée as his new bride.

"Renée, my love, I'm anxious with excitement! I wish we were leaving for Scotland at this very moment!"

"Patience, dearest. Soon it will be nearly six o'clock in the evening and then we

shall be in Edinburgh being named Mr. and Mrs. William Lennox without the objection of my father."

William sat on the edge of the window sill and smirked defiantly, "Oh, yes! And once we return, I shall say to your father, 'This woman no longer belongs to you and yours. She is now my wife and you are not welcome in our home!' And with those words I shall slam the door in his face!" he gave a hearty laugh and outstretched his hand to gently tap her chin teasingly, "Shall I climb through the garret window and comfort you there?"

"No, I think I will have the pleasure of your comfort in a more agreeable environment," She offered a soft smile before climbing out of the garret window and into his own. Being neighbors in London had its advantages. Their houses were so close together that Renée and William could easily climb to the other's home with little or no effort. It also was fortunate that the garret window was adjacent to William's bedroom.

Once she was safely inside the room, William's sapphire eyes gazed lovingly into Renée's expressive feline-colored eyes, his hands affectionately cupping her face. He knew she was only fifteen years old, but the love he had for her was overwhelming and the need to protect her from harm was even more so. He had actually come up with the idea of them marrying on his eighteenth birthday. He would be protecting her and gaining a most valuable prize in the process.

After the moment had passed, William leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against hers. He had no wish to deflower her in this moment, though the temptation was almost overwhelming. He pulled reluctantly from the kiss and gently, but protectively, wrapped his arms around her.

"I … I don't think I want to wait until this evening, my darling."

"But, William what about the plans your mother-"

"That can wait until our return. I just… I can't stand you being a prisoner of that bastard any longer! I have enough money-we can call for a coach immediately and be married before the sun sets! Think of it, Renée!"

"I'm not prepared…I've not packed or anything!"

"I have more than enough to pay the expenses of the ceremony and a three day stay at an inn. I'll buy you dresses…any color or design! I've nearly six hundred pounds to cover everything!"

"Six hundred pounds? William, that's your life's savings!"

"You, my love, are well worth every cent and more." He gently kissed her again, his hand gently stroking the side of her face. "It's settled. We leave the moment the coach arrives!"

William grabbed his robe and slipped it on before disappearing downstairs searching for the maid to give her instructions. Upon his return, he requested that Renée wait in the kitchen for him while he dressed. He then put on his best suit (one he reserved for weddings and funerals), and began packing a small suitcase with enough changes of clothes for a three day journey. As he descended the stairwell, he found Renée seated beside the door and the coach coming to a halt in front.

William hurried her into the compartment, hoping that she would not be seen. Soon, they were making their way to downtown London, for he had insisted on purchasing for her a few dresses, a corset, a nightdress, and a wedding gown for their trip to Edinburgh. She did not want to delay their departure though William had told her to take her time and select the dresses she truly wanted, so he never had the chance to see what she had purchased.

Finally, they had settled back inside the carriage, Renée laying her head upon his shoulder and soon falling into an exhausted sleep. William gently stroked her hair and inhaled the fragrant scent of lavender from her skin. His stomach was beginning to anxiously twist into knots; we're finally doing it! We're finally going to be together!

Soon he was being roused by the footman telling him they had arrived at the parish in Edinburgh. His heart began pounding harder and harder as he gently shook his love awake.

"Renée, love," William whispered into her ear amidst his nuzzles and kisses against her cheek, "It's time for us to take our vows."

Once opening her eyes, she offered William a most pleased smile, and then tenderly kissed him before exiting the coach. The bishop, heading the parish, allowed her to use one of their empty cells to change into her wedding gown while William paid for their services and inquired if they could have a photograph taken after the ceremony. The photograph, he felt, would go deservingly to his mother, even though he knew that she not being there for the event would surely break her heart.

Finally, at the fourth hour of the afternoon, William stood waiting at the alter with the vicar for his beloved bride, dreaming of what the future held for them. He imagined that the pair of them would have about four children, for he was an only child and he knew how lonely it was to be. But he was suddenly jerked back into reality as he watched her emerge.

She was absolutely beautiful –the gown was white satin trimmed in periwinkle lace and ribbon and she had white and light blue flowers adorning her hair, the same as the ones that she carried in her bouquet. William felt his chest swell with pride as she finally approached the alter. Nothing would spoil this day, nothing.

"We are gathered her today, in the eyes of God, to join together William Lennox and Renée McCullough in holy matrimony."

**Valdosta, Ga. (Southeastern Hellmouth) – 1991 (Two weeks before X-mas)**

Renée:

The more I hear him talk, the more I want to smash his face in; but I shouldn't let him get to me. Spike's all mouth-his only real talent. But, hey, I got a lot of pint up rage…need to take it out on somebody.

My name is Renée Alexander and I'm a vampire slayer. Actually I'm the youngest to ever receive the calling; I'm only thirteen and I've been fighting creatures like Spike for almost two years now. I'm good at what I do because I slay in a way that no other slayer has. I believe my technique to be slightly unique; I mean where would you find a thirteen year old anywhere that likes to have every nitty-gritty detail of the Big Bads that they're up against instead of using what's in the Watcher's archive of vampires and demons? I like to know everything, from where it was born to its favorite color.

But Spike is something of a conundrum. I know about the two slayers he killed- one during the Boxer Rebellion and the other the year before I was even born. I knew about his sire, Drusilla, who he'd walk through fire for. But it isn't in the vampire you find the true weakness. It's in the human they once were. With Spike, I have very little to go on: he was born and raised in London, England; he was a hopeless romantic, and a lousy poet. I thought about taunting him about being a sissy-boy but once I thought about it I new that if I did that I would be a dead pre-teen. But I knew there was something deeper, something that no one knew about, or talked about. And I was gonna find out what it was.

I patrol in same areas that I always do, the places where my watcher, Harry Clarkson, told me where vampires like to nest or catch unsuspecting victims. Of course, I knew Spike was following me, I was the Slayer and he was obsessed with killing me. He was studying me like I was trying to study him; watching my moves, trying to find a weakness. It was annoying…really annoying.

"If you're gonna attack me, you might as well do it, Spike. I know your there!"

Spike, as I had presumed stepped out of the shadows, his bleached hair slicked back, and a dangling earring in his right ear. He was already vamped out, a cigarette dangling next to one of his incisors, what a dork. "Well, well. If it isn't the pint-sized Slayer! Are you sure you're aloud to be up this late at night? Shouldn't you be tucked all safe and warm in your beddie-by?"

I rolled my eyes, "Shouldn't you be back at your secret hide-out fawning over 'poor little sickly Drusilla'?"

"Ooo! Gettin' better with your quips, aren't you, pet?" He blew smoke into my face, I guess trying to get me to cough or something. "But your seriously lacking in originality, you are. Don't worry, comes with time…that is if you're still alive."

"Spike, cut the crap and lets get this over with!" I grumbled feeling a little more than annoyed. Spike snorted.

"Me, fight you…you're nothing but a midget, no challenge whatsoever." He shook his head and I snatched the cigarette out from his mouth, risky but, hey, I needed the cigarette. "Hey, give that back."

"Ya snooze, ya loose," I inhaled deeply and coughed a little exhaling.

"See, can't even handle a small toke off a bloody smoke."

"Can so!" I cut back fiercely. Oh yeah! I thought, Come on, push a little more-I've been itching for a fight with you. Spike belted a great laugh.

"Oh, you are too cute! I'd love to play cat and mouse with you, nibblet, really I would. But you're just too green. If I fought you, you would be dead," he snapped his fingers in my face causing me to flinch slightly, "like that. Sorry, pet, but I like my fights to last a little longer than a few seconds."

"You're such a retard! I thought you studied your Slayers so you can figure out how to kill them…and stuff," I was starting to feel a little offended now. "Don't you even know anything about me?"

"Sure I do!" As he offered a toothy vampire grin, his fangs gleamed. "You're the youngest Slayer to ever receive the calling, am I right? That's the only interestin' thing about you-that, and the fact you're eleven years old."

"I'm thirteen, you moron! And I've been killing your kind for a year and 10 months AND counting! I've countered six apocalypses during that time; I've slain 24 Big Bads, 10 of them being vampires." I rant barely two inches away from his face, "and I'm one year's practice away from being a human pretzel!"

"A human pretzel?" He gave me a non-plussed expression. "Is the word 'nut-case' somewhere on your résumé?"

"Don't believe me?" a smirk played across my lips, "Well, I guess I'll have to prove it."

It happened quickly, so quick I don't think he knew it happened until he hit the concrete of a headstone, fifteen or twenty feet from where he stood. I sprang into a hand-stand, wrapped my petite legs around his waist, and, with all the strength I could muster, catapulted him through the air. He was, however, quick to get to his feet and, without warning, I felt a blunt strike against my face, knocking my glasses clear off my face. Spike, then, gripped my arm, twisted it painfully behind me, his chest against my back, and wrenched my head to the side, exposing a bare part of my neck. Great! Now I've pissed him off! Good going, Renée!

"I warned you, tidbit," Spike ran his cold, thick tongue along the length of my neck. "This is just too easy!"

I felt his long incisors and rigid teeth tear through my skin, and the warm, wet, sticky blood trickling down my neck. I began to panic, Oh my god! This is it: I'm going to die! But my saving grace stood before me-a gravestone. The Necromancer's Charm! That's it!

My lips were trembling as I tried to remember the words; it was a spell my watcher was teaching me and I had been trying to perfect it for several months now. Memorizing the words was the easy part-the words summoned the dead from their resting place. But getting the right pitch and tones was the difficult part, for the spell had to be sung in order to control the actions of the dead. The high octave was for attacking, low octave for protection, and medium octave for defense. This would be the first time I would use it in a battle against a demon.

"Ieyui," I began to sing softly in med-octave, my voice slightly quavering and my head swimming, "Nobomenu…Renmiri…Yojuyogo…Hasatekanae Kutamae."

The only result of that was Spike sinking his teeth deeper into my neck and I let out a pained moan. Maybe I wasn't loud enough…I've got to try again because I'm running out of time. I took a small breath and sang the charm again, only this time I sang with what strength I had left. Then I got the expected result. A rotting hand plunged from the ground and snapped its fingers around Spike's ankle.

"What in the…BLOODY HELL!" He released me in a frantic attempt to free his leg from the decaying appendage. I was in a haze but I kept singing, I lifted my eyes slightly to see that Spike and I were both surrounded by walking corpses-both fresh and decomposing alike. Two of the fresher variety gripped my arms gently and lifted me to my feet. Spike glared at me with a perplexed expression on his demonic face, and then glanced at the corpses suddenly surrounding him waiting for the command to attack.

"Now, what were you saying?" I quizzed maliciously.

"Pretty good trick. Wouldn't have expected this out of the Slayer." He nodded approvingly, "But it's gonna take more than twenty corpses to keep me at bay, sweet."

He began ripping the corpses apart, one by one, and I found myself beginning to sing, this time in the high-octave, calling out more dead, ordering them to attack. Soon, Spike was fighting a sea of attacking corpses, desperation apparent on his demonic face. He then disappeared among them, my ears filled with his piercing screams of agony as the corpses began to bite small chunks of meat from his body.

"How's it feel to be the victim, Spike? Does it feel good to be food?" I couldn't help but smile, watching him get a taste of his own medicine.

"Call them off!" I heard him plead painfully. "Call them off, please!"

I don't know why or what I was thinking, probably felt that he had been tortured enough, but I sang again in the low octave, the corpses gathering around me like a protective shield. I glared down at Spike as he lay sprawled on the ground, covered in his own blood, his face now normal as glared hatefully at me through sapphire blue eyes.

"Who's not the challenge now?" I smirked smugly.

"Little bitch!" He gritted his teeth together in rage. "This may have been a minor set-back, but believe me, sweetheart, you're gonna pay for this, mark my words. I don't care how bleeding old you are!"

"Bring it on!" I narrowed my eyes as he disappeared though the field of gravestones. I heaved a heavy sigh as I surveyed the multiple corpses I summoned standing around me like a wall of…corpses. Summoning the dead is easy, sending them is another story-I was still learning how. In my practice sessions with my watcher, I managed to get them to do the 'Hustle' but nothing more.

Well, needless to say, the zombies followed me home because I really didn't have the energy, nor the stomach, to watch a bunch of dead guys do a line dance.

I live with my watcher; he became my guardian after my parents divorced. He told them that I needed something constant in my life and that the environment I was in was not only unhealthy for me, but not a place for me to learn focus and control. I miss my parents sometimes but it's all good. My watcher isn't the kind of guy that is a crotchety old man-he's actually cool. He's 25 years old, was born in England, and looks like the bad male witch in the movie 'Warlock'(which is FINE, by my standards). Sometimes I wish I was older…

"Renée, I was beginning to…" Harry stopped short at seeing the large party of corpses following me, "You brought company?"

"Noticed, huh?" I slightly beamed, holding a bloody clothe to my neck where I had been bitten.

"Spike?" His eyes went directly to my neck.

"Yeah," I glanced at my feet, "He said I wasn't seasoned enough for him."

"We'll just have to prove him wrong, won't we?"

"How? I have nothing to go on-NOTHING."

"Well, I just got though talking on the telephone with the council in London. They have something that may help, and may be of interest to you…something about Spike that no one can seem to figure out."

"What is it?" I said excitedly, Finally!! Now I can find a weakness in him!

"A painting. A painting found in a museum in France. The Council says that the painting has a peculiar air about it." Harry ran his fingers though his long blonde hair, a strange habit that he performs whenever he is puzzled about something. "They called me about it, because I have experience in tracing art to the artists, but, frankly, I'm stumped. It looks as though it may have been a copy of another's work. I told them about your interest in William the Bloody and if I could bring you to London to have a look at it and they agreed so long as it doesn't interfere with your Slaying duties."

"Oh, Harry!! London! Really? I'll be able to see Princess Di! What am I going to wear?…" I bounced up and down gleefully, then glanced around at the party of dead guys behind me, remembering that I hadn't sent them yet, "but first, I think we need to take care of these guys. Um, Harry, How do you do that Sending Charm again?"

**Sunnydale, Ca. (Western Hellmouth) - October 30, 1997 **

The Scoobies sat quietly at the study table within the library and stared at Giles in disbelief.

"Are you sure, Giles?" Buffy Summers, the current Slayer, quizzed with an expression of both skepticism and disappointment. "I mean how can there be two Slayers?"

"I asked the council the same question, but, as it appears this slayer didn't exactly stay dead…she was only dead briefly." Watcher Rupert Giles pulled off his spectacles and cleaned them with a handkerchief from his coat pocket. "But we could use her help, Buffy. She knows more about Spike than any living…or undead person, in this world."

"I know who he's talking about, Buffy." Angel spoke in a low tone, keeping to the shadows as not to be burned in the sun, "Renée Alexander is a seasoned Slayer…she has a talent for knowing her opponents weaknesses before they do battle. We could also use some magic and she was trained in the Arts since she became the slayer. Demons call her the 'Witch Slayer'…Vampires call her 'The Necro-slayer'."

" 'Necro-slayer'?" Xander Harris scratched his dark hair, "What's a 'Necro-slayer'?"

"It means that she can control the dead. She's been perfecting that talent for nearly eight years." Giles answered Xander's query. "She has been searching for Spike for over five years now. She would make a promising ally against him, Buffy."

"Well, yeah. I'm all for the 'Kill Spike' campaign," Buffy pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "But, what about after? I mean, is she going to stay in Sunnydale?"

"No worries, slayer-girl." A soft female voice sounded throughout the Library, and a young spectacle-clad girl with long dark auburn hair, stepped out from behind a book case, tight blue-jeans, a black halter top, and black knee-high work boots covering her body. "I'm just here for the kill…nothing more. I owe him."

The brunette girl turned her head to the side and revealed a nasty scar on her neck. Willow glared wide-eyed and Xander simply mouthed, "Ouch."

"You're Renée Alexander," Giles walked hastily up to Renée, offering his hand, "My condolences on the death of your watcher, Harry Clarkson."

She slightly flinched at the sound of his name, "Yeah…he fought 'til the end…but I still couldn't save him."

"It was a risk he was willing to take; he was a good man. He spoke highly of you," Giles tried to console her with comforting words.

"Well, I hope he's proud of me, wherever he is," She smiled slightly, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Well, enough mush! Let's get down to business! What do you know about Spike?"

"Basically, everything that Angel knows about him," Buffy gestured to Angel as he remained broodingly in the shadows.

"Angelus, sired in 1775, likes to tease his victims, and has very picky taste…" Renee analyzed, "but in 1896, he slipped up and pissed off a tribe of Gypsies, they in turn, cursed him with a soul, and he came to the United States in 1910 and became a sort of recluse away from the other vampires. In his human life, he was born in Ireland in 1757 to a wealthy land owner. His favorite activities were drinking, chasing girls, and gambling. Today they are brooding, protecting innocents and giving the slayer the 'Look of Love'."

At that moment, Buffy blushed with embarrassment and Angel hid his face. Renée glared at them with a grimace, "Oh come on, those were just basics…it's not like I'm gonna tell everything in your life history-that would take too long."

"So, what do we need to find out about Spike in order to put him in an 'Oh no, I'm doomed!" position?" Willow waved her hands slightly to give her words a more dramatic effect.

"What you need to learn is not what Spike is about now, as a vampire," A sinister smile crossed her face. "It's what he was as a human. Just last week, I found the last piece of the puzzle and I think I know what his weakness is." The group, Xander, Willow, Buffy, Angel, and Giles gathered around the veteran slayer as she began going into detail about Spikes past. The surprises and the looks on Angel's face let them know that what Renée knew was something deep, something that had been kept secret for over one hundred twenty years. And now, it was out.

TBC…..

I cannot guarantee that the second chapter will be posted right away. But I would love to hear from people who do not flame. Thank you.


	2. In Your Eyes

TITLE: Destiny Entwined

AU: Buffy wasn't the first slayer that died briefly. That slayer comes into the Sunnydale scene pre-'Halloween.'

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire slayer, but if I did it would still be running and I would make a few slight changes. Also I don't own the lyrics to the song 'Come What May', it's being used for a similar purpose as the movie Moulin Rouge. So please don't sue. I do however own **My Protector, My Love**, the plot to this story, and the non-Buffy characters. Please ask permission before using them.

SUMMARY: Spike has a secret – a deep dark secret that no one, not even Drusilla with her psychic powers, knows about. No one except a young girl that claims to be the Slayer he had encountered years before. It all involves an antique music box (an heirloom passed down from mother to daughter), a poem addressed to a man named William Lennox, and a mysterious painting connected to Spike's human past that was acquired by the Watcher's Council. But things start getting even more peculiar when Spike finds out that this mystical slayer is not only drawn to him, but that they are somehow mysteriously connected by a magical bond so powerful, that not even death can break it.

This story has sexual content, moderate to high violence content, and some slight fluff. You have been warned.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to all of you who reviewed. Onimusha-thanks for the tips and thank you for agreeing to be a Beta-reader!! Anna- Love you lots, girl, and WRITE ME AGAIN SOON!! Jess- thank you for reviewing, try to get some others in on the story. Tewks- I hope you like this chapter and the rest to come.

To all reviewers: if you don't like the story, please be kind and don't flame.

Chapter 2-In Your Eyes

**London - 1869**

She was still sleeping with the sheets barely covering her nude body and, now and again, William planted kisses on her shoulder, then ran his fingers through her dark auburn hair as she slept. At last, he wrapped one of his arms around her while breathing in the scent of lavender every time he inhaled. Sweet and beautiful.

He reminisced about the way she had looked when she met him at the alter a few hours earlier. In her eyes, there was a merriment he had never seen before. The color of dark jade, blue, brown and gold swirled in a medley of harmonious beauty; the type of eyes you could only find on a cat. Feline eyes. Beautiful eyes.

After the ceremony had taken place, William and Renée hurried the coach to the inn where they eagerly obtained a room where the pair shared something that William considered a sacred and cherished occasion; the consummation of their love. William and Renée were both virgins and, coming from strict homes, felt awkward at what was to be done. But in the end, they did what came natural and, after making love, laid in a tangle of arms and legs, kissing and murmuring sweet nothings to one another.

William smiled to himself as he pulled her nude body next to his own. He kissed her cheek softly and began to recite the first verse of an unfinished poem he was composing for her:

'Never knew I could feel like this,

It's like I've never seen the sky before,

Want to vanish inside your kiss,

Everyday I'm loving you more and more.'

He felt her stir suddenly and she rolled over to face him, mysterious cat-like eyes meeting sapphire blue, "Can you not sleep at all, my love?"

"No," he half laughed, "I'm too overcome with joy. Everything that has happened tonight-there are no words to describe how happy I am!"

"I understand how you feel."

As Renée stated this, William offered a hearty laugh, "You, too, love?"

She didn't answer but only smiled diffidently, rushing her fingers though his ash-blonde hair then moving her hand slowly down to his unshaven face, gently stroking his cheek.

"You need to shave," She half-giggled.

"It's only…2:30 in the morning," William glanced at the clock over the mantle. "I have a few hours to spare. I would much rather spend them making love to you than spend them shaving."

Renée consented without words but through her beautiful eyes. Those sensuous feline-colored eyes. William climbed above her, their bodies barely touching. He slowly leaned forward and scarcely brushed his lips against hers. He then tenderly parted her legs and pushed himself inside her. She was trembling beneath him as he pushed deeper. The same overwhelming sensation of pleasure he felt the first time they made love caused his head to swim.

William began to kiss her along her neck, whispering between kisses how much he loved her and how he would love no other as he loved her. She merely repeated, "I love you, William!" between gasps to reply to his whispers.

As soon as the pair had reached their peak, William collapsed beside her and wrapped his arms around her as she lay her head upon his chest.

"I love you, William," She repeated on last time, and then added, "forever and beyond."

"And I'll always love you as well, my darling," William stroked her dark auburn hair. He smiled and placed a kiss on the top of her head. At once, she had drifted off to sleep and William thought to himself, 'This is total bliss. And if this is total bliss, may it never come to an end.

**Valdosta, GA (Southeaster Hellmouth)-1991 (Christmas Eve)**

Spike:

I felt a lump in my throat as I saw her dancin' 'cross the stage. I feel it every time I see her. 'I'm so pathetic.'

It was Christmas Eve and a local ballet school was performing 'The Nutcracker' at the Mathis Auditorium. She played Arabian Coffee-played it well. I was transfixed by the way she performed-the grace, the way her body moved if she turned one way as she danced. Like water, she just flowed.

I felt like a bloody teenager who had a crush on the captain of the cheerleading team. But I couldn't help myself. I don't think anyone can, looking into those eyes-those gorgeous eyes of hers that momentarily thrust me into a time that I had nearly forgotten. At a time when I was innocent and in love. Those eyes, they reminded me of 'her'.

The way they looked at me, though the tid-bit put on that she despised me, there wasn't hatred or malice in her eyes. Was it compassion, or just pity? If it was pity, that's the last thing I want, especially from the slayer. What if it was compassion? Compassion is just as complex as love-very fitting word for this slayer. Complex.

'Maybe I'm readin' into it too deep,' I thought. 'Maybe that glint in her eyes was just the light reflecting off her pupil. Maybe Dru's insanity is contagious.'

My problems started just a week before the recital. Before that, I was bent on torturing her, killing her. My ego was still bruised from her humiliating me that night in the cemetery. I still have a scar where one of those bloody corpses she summoned bit a hunk out of me as a reminder. I was set on paying her back dearly for what she had done.

It was after sunset, a full-moon was hanging in the sky and I was out searching for a meal when I caught the scent of blood that was familiar; the slayer's blood. A sinister smirk played on my lips-she was hurt, pretty bad hurt.

I followed the scent of her blood to a park near the university where she was in the middle of a fight. Gnil demons. Three of them. Ugly blighters-metal shafts sticking out of every joint and the head was mostly ears. But extremely difficult to kill. Can only be killed by lightening (manufactured electricity doesn't cut it). And there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

'She's toast,' I thought to myself as I continued to watch the violent display. I figured if I couldn't kill her myself, what fun would it be if I didn't stick around and watch her unpleasant death.

I followed her movements with my eyes-she was twisting, flipping, whirling; almost making me dizzy. The Gnil happened to get a few good blows in, especially around the chest area. But still she didn't relent-she let her movements flow from her trusting in her body and in her instincts. She wasn't choppy like the last slayer I killed, nor repetitive like the first. She was flexible, unpredictable, and extremely fast. I was mesmerized by her movements, how well she fought at such a young age.

'Maybe, she isn't as much as a novice as I thought. Pity,' I thought casually as she threw one of the demons off of her. 'Might have been nice to make her my third, my most formidable, my most hated slayer.'

I expected her to die, didn't expect her to know more than summoning corpses. Didn't know she was in training to be a witch. But when she raised one of her hands to the sky and started chanting in a language I hadn't read about, yet, seeing the lightening fall from the sky and crash into her hand, I was thunderstruck, pardon the pun.

'Bloody Hell' I thought as I watched as she extended the hand that held the lightening, which, with a mind of its own, jumped from her hand in three bolts, and struck the Gnil demons 'til there was nothing left but piles of ash. 'I'd be a fool to fight her now!' But I'm not the type of vamp who likes to back down from a fight. I would just have to get an army of vamps-or just overtake her when she's weak, vulnerable, like now.

It wasn't long before she had destroyed the demons that she collapsed on the ground, a good amount of blood pouring out from the wound under the small swell of what she probably called a breast. I remember musing to myself if she used training bras or if she even needed to wear one.

One could tell she was in physical pain as well as exhaustion. Vulnerable. Ripe for the tasting. The flesh on my face shifted and tighten as I vamped out, remembering the delicious taste of her blood-sweet like sugar. I've always had a sweet tooth.

"Bravo, tid-bit! Didn't know you had it in you," I applauded stepping out into the luminescent light of a nearby street lamp.

"Oh, gods! It's you!" she sighed in exasperation as she struggled to get to her feet, "What are you gonna make fun of now? My 'wittle boo-boos'?"

"Oh, no. Was just admiring your fighting ablitity," A wry smirk crossed my face, "I must say, I'm impressed."

"I'm not here to impress you! Leave me alone." She managed to shove me aside as she hobbled past me, "Go bug someone who cares."

"Hey!" I seized her arm roughly, and jerked her back towards me, "I don't think you're going anywhere, pet. At least, not 'til I get a decent-."

She fainted before I could finished. That's when I noticed the smell in her blood-something like a huge excess of iron or mercury…something metallic. It got stronger with her every heart beat. I couldn't actually place what was wrong with her, but it annoyed me more than anything that she passed out on me before I could even challenge her.

"Just perfect!" I shook my head as I lifted her into my arms. "You're not cheating me out of a fight, Slayer!"

And as I carried her off, I mumbled something about her not getting the upper hand. In that park, we were too close to the cemetery for comfort. Didn't want a repeat of the last time. I need to get to a place where they couldn't reach her. Then it hit me.

"Death Valley," A large grin played on my lips; Death Valley-fitting name for a stadium built on the Hellmouth. It was built like a miniature coliseum; best place for a battle.

I broke through the gate before carrying her through and re-chaining it securely. We were unreachable; nothing could interfere with me killing her then. So I foolishly thought.

Waiting for her to awaken, I examined her face. Marsha Alexander-the youngest slayer to receive the calling. I never really realized how pretty she was, nor how familiar. I'd seen it somewhere before, but I couldn't put my finger on exactly where. Not until she opened her eyes and looked in to mine.

If my heart could beat, I'm sure it would have exploded right then and there. 'It can't be,' I thought as my features shifted back to normal. 'It's not 'her'. Is it?'

My body trembled; I felt like bursting into tears. Those eyes were burning into me, seeing all of my sins, forcing me to feel something I haven't feel since before I was Turned. Shame. Something no vampire is supposed to feel. So why did I?

I turned away, still feeling her eyes burning into my back. I couldn't stand her looking at me as much as I couldn't stand her looking into my eyes. I could feel the sobs beginning to erupt from my chest yet I choked them back. This was the last thing I wanted her to see-a shameful and weepy vamp who's supposed to be her enemy.

"What's the matter with you?" she inquired weakly, but still trying to sound sanguine.

"You shouldn't be here," I said so softly, with my voice trembling, that I could barely recognize my own voice, "Not with me, not like this."

"Did you hit your head, Spike?" I could hear her rising from the ground, mock concern coming from her lips piercing me in the heart. Doesn't she realize? Doesn't she know?

"You should go home," I cleared my throat, finally, turning to face her, but avoiding eye contact, "Get that cut on your ribs checked out, pet."

"I have a name," She stated coolly, narrowing her eyes irritably. "and it isn't 'pet'."

"Fine, MARSHA!" I almost growled, my eyes still not meeting with hers.

"Don't call me that name again!" I could tell by the venom in her voice that she hated that name, "My name is Renée and don't you forget it!"

I felt the pang of shock hit me square in the chest. It was too much of a coincidence.

"And if you ever call me that name again, you'll wish I killed you a week ago!"

I felt warm tears beginning to well up in my eyes as I turned from her again and began to unchain the gate, but spoke trying to maintain my composure, "Go home. Get your wounds taken care of. And, for God's sake, get some rest. God knows, you bloody well need it."

She stomped her right foot to the ground as if in a tantrum, "I don't need any rest! I'm absolutely 100 percent fine, fine, fine!"

"You aren't fine," I reasoned, forgetting myself-that I was a vampire and she was the slayer, "You're not well and you're pushing yourself entirely too hard. You need to slow down and pace yourself."

"I'll go back to my original question." She gave me a non-plussed expression, "What's wrong with you? You're acting funny."

'I think you're someone I love and I don't want to loose you again.' "Nothing! I just…don't want to challenge a slayer that's not 100 percent is all." 'Liar!'

"You're kidding, right?" The expression of confusion was still on her face.

"Go home, slayer," I finally jerked the gate open and started walking away saying, "When you're 100 percent, we'll talk."

That was the last time we had spoken. But ever since that time, I've been following her around like a loyal little puppy, watching her like a guardian. 'Course, I'd never let her know about that. However, Christmas Eve was a little different, 'cause I'm not really very patient when it comes to letting a girl know how I feel. I want to be straight and to the point…just finding the right words is the difficult part.

'It's ironic,' I mused to myself, 'that someone I once held dear long ago may have been reincarnated into my worst enemy. Well, I guess that's my lot in life-I know from experience.' And it wasn't far from the truth; nothing ever worked out for the best in my unlife as far as I was concerned.

'But a bloke's gotta try,' I reclined back in my seat after Renée left the stage. 'I mean, if I can just guarantee that she has a slight inkling of feeling for me…Who am I tryin' to kid here?' I commenced trying to convince myself that I had no business messin' around with a 13 year old girl even if she did remind me of someone I loved. She was a vampire slayer, the enemy, a child. Her childhood was stolen from her when she was only 11, when she had only begun to live her life, and that pisses me off more than anything. A 13 year old girl should be worried about not trying to get grounded so she can gaff off at the mall with her friends, not be worried about vampires, demons, and, most of all, apocalypses. That burden is too much for any girl to bare, and sometimes I wish I could relieve her of it. 'Damn it,' I mentally slapped myself, 'Now I've gone and done it. I'm in love with her.'

I swallowed hard, feeling like an utter fool, as I came to that conclusion. I tried to talk myself out of falling for her and did just the opposite. 'I'm so bloody pathetic,' I mentally berated myself. 'Now, I'll be the laughing stock of all of the vamps.'

But in all honesty, it didn't really bother me that I would be made fun of for havin' a school boy crush on the slayer. All I wanted, all I needed, was her. The whole world be damned.

As I had sat in my seat mulling over these things, I finally realized that I had missed the last part of the ballet and they were now having curtain call. I stared as the dancers, group by group, appeared on the stage taking their bows and move to the side. Renée came to center stage with the other dancers who danced with her, a dozen red roses in her arms, and bowed gracefully at the audience. I smiled to myself-she got the roses I sent her.

The lights of the auditorium came on and people were pushing and shoving to get past, heading towards the doors. I, instead, crept downstairs to the dressing rooms, keeping to the shadows as not to be seen. This was my ritual-for a week, I would wait until sunset, come to the auditorium. I would watch and wait for her as she rehearsed and follow her home when she was finished. I would always berate myself afterwards for doing it. But it didn't matter. I did it anyway.

After descending the stairs, coming amidst the clucking and chattering of the dancers getting out of costume, I heard heart-wrenching sobbing coming from one of the stalls in the nearby ladies room. I remembered cries like those all too well-the type that comes from a broken heart.

I entered the washroom, locking the door behind me, and the scent of lavender rushed into my nostrils. It was Renée and it broke my heart hearing those anguishing sounds come from her sweet lips, though there was a time I would have given anything to have caused them.

"Renée?" I tried painfully to disguise my voice, but without success.

"Harry?" Her fragile voice quivered as she answered from one of the stalls, "Is that you?"

'What luck! She thinks I'm her watcher.' "Yeah, it's me. What's wrong?"

"She lied to me again, Harry!" I heard her go into crying again, "She said she'd come, and she didn't even show up."

"Who?" 'Yeah, who?'

"My mom! Who do you think?" she sobbed out in exasperation, "She lied to my face! She lied to me! Her own daughter! I know she doesn't love me, but I wish she'd at least be honest about it!"

I wanted to tell her that it didn't matter because I loved her, but, instead, I insisted to Renée that her mother had lied because she didn't want to hurt her, as my way of trying to console her. Didn't do too good a job of that one. It just made her cry even more.

"Or maybe something got in the way and she couldn't make it," I frantically tried to recover, "You know-last minute."

"What's more important than seeing your own child?" she retorted with resentment in her voice.

'Nothing is more important than seeing someone you love, especially your own child,' I agreed in silence, and told her what was in my heart to say, "I know it's not the same as havin' your mum, but I'm here for you and …I love you." And I meant every word.

She didn't say a word only opened the stall door, but, as soon as her eyes met mine, her expression changed from that of tearful and heartbroken to complete and utter terror. Before I could say anything, she slammed the stall door shut.

"Oh, come on, love! I didn't mean any harm." I began to slam my fist on the stall door, "I said the truth. Really I-" the words escaped my lips as I was being slammed into a porcelain sink by the stall door.

Water spurted everywhere from one of the busted pipes saturating the floor. She tried to take off in a run, but slipped and fell face first to the floor. I grabbed her ankle, pulled her through the water towards me, and clambered atop her, using all of my strength and my weight to hold her down. She merely wrestled and screamed without effect.

"Go on, sweet, get it out of you're system. Nobody's getting in here 'cause I've locked the door." I said nonchalantly, and then it dawned on me. This would have been the perfect time for me to kill her. But I couldn't do it; I was changed. I loved her and I wouldn't be the one who ended her life. Nor would anyone else. "If I let you go, will you give me your word that you won't stake me?"

"Forget it!" she shrieked, still trying to wiggle free of my grip. Her hair and her costume were saturated with water.

"That's just fine, 'cause we have all night-you have to sleep sometime, pet." I smirked casually, my face barely inches from hers.

"I can go days without sleep," her feline eyes narrowed and her lip went into a slight pout. Adorable, just absolutely adorable.

I chuckled bemusedly, "You're cute when you're trying to be tough. Now, I'll let you go if you promise not to stake me, and if you promise to hear me out."

"Fine," she sighed bowing to pressure, "Talk."

I released her, watching her carefully as she was watching me, then began to speak, "I…came to …no, no…I mean I've been thinking about things for some time." She eyed me suspiciously, and I continued, "Well, actually, just a week. And, I was wondering, that if you're not busy, you know with slaying and all, if you wanted to go out with….me…on New Years?"

"What?" her face screwed into a mixture of half-disbelief, half-disgust.

"It's perfectly alright if you say 'no' 'cause I won't cry about it…I just thought you'd like to have some kind of fun, because God knows you need a little fun, besides kicking some stuffed dummy around in the training room all night," I began rambling, nervously. 'Shut-up, you fool!' "And I never liked you anyway and you have creepy eyes."

'You moron!' I mentally slapped myself as I quickly exited the bathroom to prevent anymore catastrophic words from expelling out of my lips. 'Now, she probably thinks you're just as insane as Dru.'

I walked slowly to an abandoned frat house (that I used as my headquarters) feeling utterly defeated. The one chance I had to tell Renée how I felt, and I had seriously blown it. When I walked into the room, I found Drusilla sitting on the floor having a tea party with her dolls. Her raven hair was put up, which is a first for Dru, in a large banana clip. And she wore a red lacy dress that matched her nail-polish and her lips. Dru was beautiful, but not the same as Renée. She didn't have that light, that purity in her eyes like Renée did. Never the less, she was a fitting alternative.

"Look, Ms. Edith," Drusilla chirped almost happily as she tilted her head in my direction. "Spike has returned from the lovely Christmas ball."

"For the last time, Dru," I explained as I collapsed on my favorite chair in the house. "I was out hunting."

She whimpered slightly offering me a small pout. Cute, but not as cute as Renée's pout. "Why don't you be nice and tell Mummy about the ball, and about the courtesan?"

"Coutesan? I swear, Dru," I shook my head, but in my heart I knew what she was talking about. "You come up with stranger and stranger things every year that passes."

"Spike, tell us about the courtesan that danced like she was part of the music," Dru rose from her place at her tea set and started whirling in circles, "Flowing, like water."

There was a small pang of worry-was Dru smarter than I gave her credit for? Would she, in jealousy, have one of the vamps try to hurt Renée? Or maybe a whole nest? I wouldn't put it past her. But Renée is a big girl-she can take care of herself. However, to be on the safe side, maybe I should keep an eye out for her 'cause I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to my Renée.

**Sunnydale, CA (Western Hellmouth)-October 31, 1997 (Holloween Night)**

Renee:

Sitting on the corner of my bed in my hotel room on the fourth floor, I mused over an aged parchment that I had found in the music box my father's mother gave to me. It was a poem written by a girl named Renée McCullough to a man named William Lennox:

**My Protector, My Love**

My protector, my love-

He gazes at me as surveying a looking glass

My protector, my love-

He knows my every thought

My protector, my love-

Lying with me on the dew-kissed grass

My protector, my love-

He is the one my heart has sought

'So romantic,' I mused to myself, as I lay backwards on the bed softly giggling to myself. I turned my head to gaze at the painting on the wall that I had taken from London after closing the Hellmouth in South Georgia. A young girl was sitting and smiling in a Victorian chair, her long curly dark auburn locks flowing over her shoulders and her feline like eyes smiled familiarly at me. Beside her stood William the Bloody (aka. Spike), pale, with cold yet sad sapphire blue eyes, dressed in clothing fashionable for men of the time. His eyes seemed to speak volumes in that painting and it was unsettling. And the two funniest things to me about the way the pair looked were, one, that he was a vampire, he didn't have a reason to be so sad looking. He was probably having the time of his unlife, as most vamps tend to do. The other, the girl in the painting bore no lasting resemblance to Drusilla, for Drusilla was darker, with a fanatical look in her eyes.

The more I thought about the paintings mystery, the more tangled the web became. See, the painting I had was painted in the year 1883-three years after Spike became, well, Spike. What I had found out in my stay in London five years ago was that the painting was a copy from a painting created in 1870-13 years before. There was a strange connection between the girl and Spike and the only one who would be able to tell me about it would be Spike himself.

I studied the girl in the painting as she smiled out as if she didn't know Spike was standing beside her. I slowly shook my head, as I traced a finger along the outline of her face, "I wish I was that beautiful."

I had to admit that I was a tad bit jealous and not just of her beauty. Five years ago I wouldn't have thought twice about saying Spike was repulsive, but now, only 23 days to my nineteenth birthday, I was beginning to see him in a way I didn't use to. He was attractive, for a vampire.

My eyes tore momentarily from the painting as I stole a glance at the clock on the nightstand as it turned to 4 pm. In exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes the sun would set, and I would go out and do what I did best: Patrol for potential demons and vampires, but especially for Spike. Despite what Angel had said, vamps still like to come out during Halloween (I speak from personal experience), and I wouldn't put it past Spike to do the same.

I strode over to the clothing rack next to the bathroom and gently removed my costume-an exact replica of the dress the girl in the painting was wearing from the lilac silk fabric to the trimming of ivory lace. I carefully lay it on the bed, regarding it thoughtfully. Tonight I would be her, if for only a few hours. Tonight I would be the beauty and not a beast for once.

My hair, even though it was a similar color as the girls, was slightly shorter than hers, barely past my shoulder blades but just as curly. I tried my damnedest to get my hair to look at least similar to hers, but failed. I threw it in a fake-pearl banana clip and let it go, the curls spilling off in different directions. 'It'll have to do," I stared at my reflection disappointedly.

The corset was a bitch to get on, me being the only person in the room. I remember thinking, 'What the hell was wrong with Victorian women?' as I pulled the strings as tightly as I could and then both my breasts burst free. 'Great' I mentally through my hands into the air. 'I should have stuck with a low cut bra.'

As soon as I slipped on one of my white lace bras (figured my bra would hopefully blend in with the lace on the dress), I threw the dress over my head and pulled it down, it fitting rather snug around the breast area. I took one last glance at the mirror before deciding to leave. I wasn't near as beautiful as the girl in the painting, but I accepted the way I looked, catty eyes, big breasts and all.

It didn't take me long to drive to Buffy Summers' home; before I knew it, I was pulling into the driveway and making my way up the walkway to the front door. Mrs. Summers opened the door, and though I only met her the night before, she welcomed me with a warm smile.

"My, that's a very lovely costume," she commented politely, before ushering me inside. "Buffy will be down in a few minutes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Summers." I offered her a pleasant smile as she walked up the stairs to Buffy's room.

I peered into the living room, looking around for Willow or Xander, thinking they might be here. There next to the TV, was Xander dressed as a soldier in the Army, playing with his toy machine gun.

"Hi, Xander," I chimed, startling him to almost dropping his toy gun, "What are you doing?"

"**Va-va-voom!**" he exclaimed as he tousled his black hair and examined me head to toe. "Would you mind terribly if I asked you to go trick or treating with me?"

"Sorry, I'm gonna have to decline for two reasons," I explained, "One, you're jail-bait. And two, I'm patrolling tonight."

"Angel, said not to worry about patrolling tonight." I turned to catch Buffy descending the stairs in a dark wig and a 18th century dress. She eyed my costume, "Nice costume."

"Ditto," I retorted, through a gritted, and fake smile. 'How dare her! She stole my idea!'

"But, like I said, Angel told us not to bother patrolling," she began, unwary of the the evil look I was giving her, "because he told me demons and vamps usually stay in on Halloween."

"Usually, not always. Spike isn't a typical vamp," I explained matter-of-factly, "and as much as I trust Angel, I'm not taking any chances with Spike. And if he does happen to be waltzing around town, I wanna be the last thing he sees."

"Wow, Buffy," exclaimed Xander, who had ignored the conversation between Buffy and I the whole time, goggled at her then turned his eyes back to me, a sigh escaping his lips, "Two gorgeous women and only one of me. Life is so unfair."

"Just wait until you see Willow," Buffy spurted excitedly, "Come on out, Will!"

We all waited, and finally I caught the sound of the slow thumping of Willow's feet on the stairs. Suddenly, we were all face to face with a sheet-clad Willow. Buffy and Xander stared at her in disappointment as I stifled a small laugh. Willow raised her hands slightly from underneath the sheet, "Boo?"

**October 31, 1997-7:30 pm**

Something bad was definitely going down, and I was glad I went with my gut. There was screaming everywhere; teens and kids turning into demons of many. It was a total mad house! I'm not stupid enough to kill any of the monsters because I couldn't risk it turning out to be a human being. Yet in the midst of the chaos, I spotted a familiar face.

"Spike!" I hissed under my breath. After all these years, finally, my hunt would be over. I kept my eyes glued on him as he knelt down to a few of the smaller demons. 'What is he up to?' I asked myself as I stalked behind him, keeping close enough to see him, but far enough away that he didn't sense me there. I followed him. He and the demons all careened into an alley as I desperately tried to keep up with him being that running was never my strong suit.

Once I got to the end of the alley, a terrified scream pierced the silence. And in a panic I hurried toward where I had heard the scream. There Spike was, smug in his ability to intimidate, towering over some poor girl-'Wait! That's Buffy!!'

I realized that whatever spell was creating demons from costumed human beings must have gotten to Buffy too. I was wrought with disbelief,

"Oh, hell no!"My blood was boiling over now. "No vamp intimidates any girl on my watch, I don't care if she did steal my costume idea!"

"Oh, Spike!" I called out to him creating a ball of crackling energy, then hurled it at him when he spun around on his heels to see who had called his name. He was slammed into the wall behind Buffy and slid down like a limp slab of meat.

"Gods, Spike. Are you still chasing after slayers?" I commented casually, "Some things never change."

"Renée?" He glimpsed up in my direction, an expression of surprise clearly formed on his demonic face, "You're alive?!"

"Yup! Disappointed?" I mocked a small pout.

"What's going on?" I heard a small child behind me say.

"I want my mommy!" another sobbed.

From the looks of things, the spell had been broken somehow, but it didn't seem to matter right now. Spike was mine. This was my moment, and nothing or no one was going to take it away, not even Buffy, even though she had retrieved a makeshift stake and was charging Spike with it.

"Whoa, Buffy! I don't think so!" I pulled the skirts of her dress, and dragged her back towards me. "It's too dangerous to fight him in front of these kids. What if he ended up grabbing one of them?"

"Good point," Buffy agreed reluctantly as Spike was trying, with much difficulty, to get to his feet. "What did you do to him?"

"Energy drain," I explained, with a wry smirk, "He'll be harmless for a good while. Right now, he's weaker than a human."

"Wow, cool." Buffy beamed, and then a devilish look crossed her face. "Could you teach me that trick?"

"Maybe some other time," I patted Buffy on the shoulder and she offered a slightly disappointed pout. "Now, I have to interrogate the prisoner."

I climbed over the crates where Spike had fell, and lifted him up by his collar, with him protesting, "Hey! You used magic! That's not fair!"

"Who said 'Life was fair'?" I retorted maliciously as I got him on his feet, "Start walking, I've not got all night."

"Hey, whoa, Renée!" Xander sidestepped in front of me, "Your not actually gonna keep him alive are you?"

"I have my reasons," I answered and glanced back at Buffy, "If you don't hear anything from me by tomorrow, send a search party. I said move, Spike!"

We trekked for about a good 8 blocks, him throwing a comment every now and then about how I've improved on my magic skills and I telling him to shut up and keep walking, until we came to my rental car parked in front of the Summers' home. I shoved Spike into the passenger side and buckled him down, tightly, before I climbed into the driver's side and turned the ignition.

"You look good, slayer. You've really blossomed since I last saw you." Spike commented his eyes fixed on my chest, "D-cup?"

"Not like it's any of your business, but" I heaved an exasperated sigh, "no, I'm a double D."

"Mmm," He moistened his lips with his tongue as he marveled at my chest, "Spike likes."

"Shut up!" I growled, my voice dripping with disdain.

"Here we go again!" Spike rolled his eyes in aggravation, "Every time I give you a compliment, you twist it around into an insult. You haven't changed a bloody bit."

"Whatever," I mumbled under my breath.

"But now I know you have some kind of feeling for me," He continued, "else you would have staked me on the spot."

"There were kids in the area," I argued stalwartly, "I didn't want to warp their fragile little minds."

"Ha! Admit it! You don't want to stake me because you have feelings for me!"

Abruptly, I slammed on the brakes and Spike lurched forward knocking his head on the dash. "Oi! Watch it!"

"Let's get one thing straight, Spike," I put on the parking brake and turn my attention towards him, "The only feelings I have for you are loathing and nausea! Okay?!"

"Come on, you don't mean that, pet," He smirked almost dreamily, "You're not the only slayer who has feelings for a vamp. Give in; don't fight it, love."

"Not again!" I wrinkled my nose, then opened the glove compartment and pulled out my bandana, then shoved it into his mouth, "There! Maybe I can drive in peace."

**November 1, 1997-5:15 am**

My alarm sounded off next to the bed where I was sleeping. I slammed down the snooze button and glared at the clock maliciously. It was 5:15; 17minutes before sunrise. I smirked spitefully to myself, 'Okay, maybe I've tortured the poor guy enough."

I slipped into my favorite terry-clothe robe, tying it over my long silk hunter-green chemise and pulled on my bedroom slippers. I grabbed my car keys and my door key and quickly tore out the door to the elevators. As soon as I reached the outside of the hotel, I saw him still sitting in my car looking more than a bit panicked. I unlocked the door and pulled the bandana out of his mouth.

"What is wrong with you woman?! Leaving me out here all night 'til almost sunrise!" I beamed at the fear apparent in his voice, "What's with that?"

"Oh, it's just I love the smell of burning flesh in the morning," I sighed in mock delight, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Come on, pet," He pleaded, "You didn't keep me alive just to kill me like this!"

"Oh, I don't know; it's awfully tempting to just sit here and watch you burn to a crisp."

"Please, I promise I'll be a good boy!"

"Not good enough. Oops! You have 6 minutes before sunrise."

"God, Renée! I would never do something like this to you."

"I'm not so sure; slow torture, painful death…It's just so…fun!"

"I get the point, love. Now, please get me out of here before I'm nothing but a scorch mark on your car seat!"

"Okay, that's not good," I speedily released him from his confines. I paid 10 extra bucks on that insurance policy, I'm not paying for a brand new car just because a vamp combusted in it. We both took off in a run towards the hotel entrance and into the elevators.

"Whoo! That was a close one, wasn't it, pet?" Spike smiled relieved that he had gotten out of the sun just in time. "So, why are you keeping me alive?"

"I have some…questions. Questions only you can answer." I crossed my arms and kept my head down, my face solemn.

"What kinds of questions?" He eyed me suspiciously, as we walked out of the elevator.

"You'll see," I answered unlocking the door to my room, opening the door, and flipping on the light. "Come in."

He smirked at me slightly as he entered the room, "You sure you trust me enough not to use your hocus pocus mumbo jumbo on me, pet?"

"Not a matter of trust," I answered as I strolled in behind him and over to where the painting stood covered in a sheet. I stared at it silently for a moment, "It's a matter of who has more power. You or me."

"I think we're pretty evenly matched, don't you think?" He retorted, trying to light up a cigarette, "Bloody hell! You got me so bleedin' weak, I can't even light my smoke!"

"Sorry," I reached for my lighter off the nightstand and struck it; the small flame flickered from it as he lit his cigarette.

He glanced over at my cigarettes on the nightstand, "So you went from sneaking around smoking to actually creating a habit. The Nibblet is all grown up."

"Yeah, so," I said tossing my lighter back down on the nightstand.

"Nothin'. Just making conversation." He eyed me, an unclear expression on his face almost seemed like concern. "What questions did you want to ask me?"

"They might speak for themselves when I show you," I walked back over to the painting and removed the sheet. I cut my eyes in his direction to catch his expression.

"Where did you find this?" His voice quivered, and he slowly made his way over to the painting. He reached out his fingers and traced the outline of the girls face. "I'd already given up searching for it."

"It was found in France, by the Watcher's council. I was wondering if you would tell me who this girl is, and what the connection between you and her is?"

His eyes cut to my direction then returned to the girl in the painting before he walked over towards my bed and sat on the corner. "Very long story. You think you're up to hearin' it, pet?"

"What have I got to loose?" I heaved a huge sigh, "I mean, how weird could it be?"

"You might think it pretty weird." He smiled painfully, and took my hand into his, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable, "I just hope you'll understand and keep an open mind about it. The woman in the painting…that's you, love."

TBC…

Well this is the second chapter. Number 3 will come soon enough. R&R but please be kind and don't flame.


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